


none but you

by missgiven



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pining, Rentboys, Scene: St James's Park 1862 (Good Omens), Smoking, The Hundred Guineas Club, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgiven/pseuds/missgiven
Summary: After their perfectly dreadful meeting in St James's Park in 1862, Aziraphale is utterly distraught both by Crowley's request and its implications. In his distress, he visits his club to soothe his nerves, but finds no respite there.At a discreet gentlemen's club in 1862, Aziraphale seeks distraction in the arms of a handsome young man, even as he struggles to keep his mind off his oldest and dearest friend. Before the evening's out, the young man's resemblance to a certain tempting individual is regrettably all too clear.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 149
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	none but you

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, this fic may be dunking on Aziraphale for 14k words, but we do love him very very much.

* * *

_"Nor could she help feeling, on more serious reflection,  
_ _that, like many other great moralists and preachers,  
_ _she had been eloquent on a point in which her conduct would ill bear examination."  
_ ** _Persuasion, Jane Auste_ _n_**

* * *

When he stormed out of St. James’s park, Aziraphale was in such a state that it must have been some quarter of an hour before he even realized where he was. He’d been barreling through the streets of London with nearly no thought in his mind whatsoever. _Nearly_ no thought. The only ones he’d had room for went something like “holy water _indeed_ ” and “why would he _do_ such a thing.” If he had been being honest with himself, which did not seem like a reasonable thing to do, the latter thought would have taken on a shape more akin to “why would he _leave me_.”

The mad rush of the same few thoughts began to lift, ever so slightly, just enough for him to recognize he was now on New Bond Street. He’d taken a violent north out of St James’s and _gone._ Still walking with more bustle than was advisable, he took a right at the next turning. 

He would. He would go home. That was it. That was the direction his feet had been taking him. Arrange his books. See to his records. Shout at dust motes who looked like they might have designs on his things. That would set him to rights. _Holy water indeed._

When he came onto Regent Street, however, he stopped suddenly. A man behind him nearly stumbled into his back and gave Aziraphale a frightful glare. Aziraphale glared back, more frightfully, and the man suddenly remembered both that he had an engagement he was late for and also that he would likely never find love or companionship.

A sudden epiphany. Why _should_ he go home? He was nearly halfway to his club. Take another ten or fifteen minutes to stroll. Calm down slightly. Enjoy some time spent in the company of those who _wished_ to remain in his acquaintance. 

It seemed the perfect balm to soothe his raw nerves. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before.

_Why would he wish to leave me?_

Aziraphale straightened his top hat aggressively and made a determined left onto Regent Street.

* * *

When he walked into the club, he was greeted with such conviviality that all the problems of his altercation with Crowley seemed to melt right away.

Before long, he had seen his way into an armchair between two gentlemen of his acquaintance(aliases Rosemary and Constance), with a fine scotch in hand and designs towards a newspaper once the jovial conversation had faded away.

The conversation, unfortunately, though it started jovially enough, did not long remain so.

“I say, it is good to see you, Naomi,” said Rosemary, after he and Constance had wrapped up the thread of conversation Aziraphale had entered during. “Have you had a pleasant day?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to give a polite lie, but couldn’t stop an unhappy sigh from coming out. “Well, Rose, I can’t say that I have,” he said, but still gave a brave smile. “But I wouldn’t want to bring your spirits down.”

“Nonsense,” said Constance. “What’s the trouble then?”

Aziraphale sighed again. “I’m afraid I’ve just had something of a spat with a - a dear friend.”

“Not your Ruth again, is it?” Constance asked through a badly concealed grin. Aziraphale frowned at him.

“I wish you wouldn’t call him my Ruth,” Aziraphale said. Thinking of Crowley as his anything, let alone _that_ , made something in the vicinity of his sternum pinch unpleasantly. When he picked the name Naomi, he was only thinking of one of the remarkable women he’d met those millennia ago, not thinking about her sweet companion. And certainly not thinking about his prickly one. “He’s hardly my anything. Just a friend.” Unbidden, an image of Crowley’s hurt face as he spat the word _Fraternizing?_ came to mind. “An acquaintance, even, perhaps.”

He finished his scotch and nearly missed the sidelong glance Constance and Rosemary gave one another.

“Elsie,” called Rosemary. A younger man holding a tray appeared at his elbow. “Another scotch for our Naomi, if you please. He’s had a difficult day, the poor man.” Rosemary plucked the crystal glass from Aziraphale’s hands neatly and set it on the waiter’s tray. Without anything to occupy his hands now, Aziraphale brought them together, idly rubbing the palm of one with the thumb of the other, an attempt at soothing his nerves. He hadn’t exactly come to the club to ruminate in his problems.

“Tell us about this problem with this acquaintance of yours, then,” Rosemary prodded.

The waiter appeared again, this time at Aziraphale’s side. He held out the tray holding Aziraphale’s refreshed scotch.

“Bless you, my dear,” he said, taking the glass and glancing up with a grateful smile, and was momentarily arrested. The man was looking down at him with amber-colored eyes peeking out of a handsome, sharp-boned face. Those eyes seemed to focus on Aziraphale’s with _intention_. It had been some years since Aziraphale had been on the receiving end of such a Look.

Aziraphale broke eye contact first, somewhat disconcerted. In his fit of pique, he had not considered _all_ of the comforts a trip to the club could provide. As a member of the club, he had rarely partaken in certain _activities_ there _._ And yet.

He turned back to his companions, and the waiter — he’d gone and forgotten the young man’s name — returned to work.

Constance was giving him a smirk.

Constance had always been rather obnoxious.

Aziraphale told them a heavily edited version of the disagreement he had had with Crowley. A request for holy water became _something which I cannot give to him._ Vague. Inadequate. He shared the bit about _fraternizing_ though. And couldn’t help but make some small mention of Crowley’s unhappy expression. And certainly made some great mention of Crowley’s sharp rejection. Other people to fraternize with. Indeed! Well then why should he take up so much of Aziraphale’s time at all!

As he finished his story, it became clear that he had done little to dissuade Constance about ideas that Crowley was “his Ruth.” And a look at Rosemary’s face suggested that he had been swayed to Constance’s opinion. 

Of course they wouldn’t _truly_ understand.

They did their best to reassure him and Aziraphale let himself be coddled and patted a little. As he finished his second glass of scotch he steered the conversation around to one of Constance’s recent dalliances and did his best to listen to the man’s dramatics. 

Sharing what had happened by the water in St. James’s had not done much more than reignite his initial irritation, worry, and hurt. The coddling had helped, but not much. He frowned at the bottom of his glass.

“Another, sir?”

With a start, Aziraphale noticed that he had completely withdrawn from the spirited conversation Rosemary and Constance were having in front of him. The handsome waiter from earlier had appeared at his side again — quite close this time. Aziraphale could feel the warmth of his body along his upper arm as he looked up at the young man. 

Those eyes again! Such a warm light brown, shot through with a little green — they looked almost — _yellow._ And staring down at him with such utter focus. It was enough to remind him very nearly of — not that he would allow his mind to wander in that direction.

Aziraphale held the waiter’s gaze for a long moment that, in another establishment, would have been quite rude indeed. One corner of the young man’s mouth twitched up, ever so slightly. Aziraphale watched it happen before looking back up to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Not now, my dear. I imagine I’ll go in to dinner momentarily. But I thank you.”

In another social situation, it would have seemed strange that Aziraphale maintained eye contact for the duration of his comment. As it were, in the discreet gentlemen’s club on Portland Place, such prolonged connection was more than common practice.

The young man held out a fine, slim hand for Aziraphale’s glass. The tray remained at his side. Aziraphale handed his glass over and his fingertips brushed the other man’s.

This would be _just_ the thing to take his mind off his argument with Crowley.

“Will you be here for the rest of the evening?” Aziraphale asked, looking away at last, examining his well-kept nails. 

“I will, sir.” The waiter remained poised at Aziraphale’s side.

“Mm.” He picked an invisible piece of lint off the cuff of his shirt, delicately, then flicked his eyes back up to meet those enchanting eyes. His chest felt warm and _pleasant_ now, and anticipation was settling low in his torso. He loved this role, loved acting unaffected and prissy and _commanding_ , loved an attractive young man hanging on his every word and action. “Good.”

He leaned forward, effectively dismissing the waiter. What was his name? Rosemary had used it. It would have been good of him to remember it. No matter; it would come up later. He could feel the young man’s attention fixed on him, even as he utterly ignored him. _Yes._

He cleared his throat, addressed his companions. “Shall we go into dinner then, gentlemen?”

* * *

Dinner with Constance and Rosemary had been a fine enough affair. The food at the club was always scrumptious, but never the main draw. The conversation had been a welcome distraction, but not enough of one to clear his head entirely.

Aziraphale had had a blancmange for dessert that, while beautifully crafted and flavored, had not quite satisfied him.

He left table before Rosemary and Constance. As he returned to the drawing room, he scanned it for a sign of the waiter from earlier. The amber-eyed young man was nowhere to be seen. Aziraphale pressed his lips together, irritated. He _had_ said he would be working the rest of the evening.

Perhaps he had simply stepped out for a moment.

Or perhaps he had lied. It wasn’t as though the staff here were entitled to refuse the advances of a gentleman, and so a white lie and a quick slip from an uninterested party were not out of the question. And only fair.

He wouldn’t demean himself to pester the other waiters and find out where the young man had gone. Especially as he had no idea of his name.

It was a foolish idea, anyway. When he wanted to enjoy a man’s company, it was best done separately from his time at the club. And to keep it within similar class circles to his own. Ethical considerations, and all.

Aziraphale manfully did not pout. Rather, he brooded as he walked over to an open armchair that managed to be both close to the fire and secluded from the rest of the company. The armchair and the patch of space it occupied were both rather surprised to have manifested from the ether on such short notice.

Pieces of his earlier conversation with Crowley kept drifting into his mind as he stared moodily at the fire.

_What if it all goes wrong? What if it all goes pear-shaped?_

_I want insurance._

_I have lots of other people to_ fraternize _with, angel._

_I don’t need you._

Coming to the club had been a poor idea. All that had come of it had been a conversation with two silly men that only made him feel worse, and a bungled attempt at flirtation with a member of the staff. He had better just leave and sulk around his books instead. They might actually be able to fulfill the daunting task of holding his attention _and_ not leaving him, unlike _apparently everyone else on God’s earth_.

Aziraphale had just made up his mind to stand up when he heard the soft sound of a throat being cleared next to him. Someone walked past the chair to stand in front of him. 

“Evening paper, sir?”

It was that handsome waiter again. He held out a silver tray with a neatly pressed newspaper on it. His warm eyes studied Aziraphale closely and his pink lips were curved into a slight smile.

Aziraphale felt the tension melt out of his face and shoulders. _This_ was the distraction he’d been looking for. He stared at the young man for a moment, noticed his dark auburn hair, more brown than red but red _enough._ Noticed his high cheekbones, his fine straight nose. Noticed his lanky height. 

By the time Aziraphale dragged his eyes down and back up the man’s frame, the young man had a faint blush on his cheeks and a look in his eyes that suggested that he felt slightly uncomfortable and wildly happy about it. Which is exactly what Aziraphale had been hoping for.

“Thank you, yes.” He finally took the paper from the tray.

“Anything to drink, sir?”

“A brandy would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, already reaching for his reading glasses and snapping the paper open, already feigning cool disinterest. He thought he heard the young man breathe in just a little sharply.

“Very good, sir.”

Eyes fixed firmly on print he was very decidedly _not_ reading, Aziraphale took in a fortifying breath. 

Thus far, he had not made any advances at any club staff — it seemed rather tawdry at best, to make a pass at a member of the staff who was obliged to say yes, and creeping towards unethical at worst. But Aziraphale was no fool. He _knew_ the eyes the waiter had been shooting towards him. Aziraphale had taken the initiative and run with it, but not without reason. And, anyhow, there was nothing wrong with setting his attention on a staff member for the course of an evening. Aziraphale likely wouldn’t take the waiter to _bed_. And even if he did, he would of course impress upon the young man that he _needn’t comply_ , if he didn’t want to. _If._

The man was _quite_ attractive. Probably one of the older staff around the club, around thirty or so. Aziraphale had a difficult time with human ages. He knew the man must have been on the young side, but still within what he considered _acceptable bounds._

Sometimes Crowley would come to Aziraphale’s side for a rendezvous or a social engagement and he would appear about the same age as the waiter, instead of the more usual forty-odd he favored. Those times _haunted_ Aziraphale, for reasons he did not feel ready to articulate. They potentially had something to do with memories of Greece.

Aziraphale glanced over to a long bar at one side of the room, where his waiter was pouring his brandy. My, but he was handsome.

In fact, Aziraphale scarcely dared admit to himself, he looked quite like Crowley. 

Perhaps that should have been a deterrent to his current plan of action.

It was not.

The waiter turned and headed back towards Aziraphale, who let the young man catch him staring at him over his reading glasses for a long and deliberate moment before returning his gaze to his newspaper.

The waiter came back to the chair, held out the glass of brandy on his ubiquitous silver tray. 

“Your drink, sir.”

Aziraphale set the paper down, retrieved the brandy, held the young man in place with his eyes.

“Thank you, my dear.”

Something about calling the young man standing in front of him — who he was seriously considering seducing, who he had _absolutely_ planned to toy with for the rest of the evening,who looked so much like Crowley — ’my dear’ unsettled him briefly. 

Mentally, in the space of a split second, he frowned at himself. This would not do. Tonight was not for Ezra Fell, bumbling bookseller. Tonight was for Mr. Fell, alias Naomi, world-class flirt.

He got himself back together so fast the young man standing in front of him had no idea that any danger had been present, let alone had already passed.

“May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, darling?” he asked. Much better. He never called Crowley _darling._ And the greater familiarity had the added benefit of bringing another fetching blush to the young man’s cheeks.

“When I’m here, it’s Elsie, sir,” said the waiter. _Elsie_ , then. Absolutely charming.

“Very good,” Aziraphale said, as if he was praising the young man for his choice of name. Elsie took in a quick breath and flashed Aziraphale a small grin. Oh, this was very good _indeed._ “Elsie, I’d like to know I can count on your services for the rest of the night. If you’re amenable.”

“I certainly am, sir. And you certainly can.”

“Good chap,” Aziraphale said indulgently. Elsie swallowed, causing the Adam’s apple in his throat to bob. Aziraphale watched it. “If anyone gives you any trouble, let them know that this evening, you are Naomi’s.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And Elsie, I think you can do away with that silly old tray, when next you come to me.”

“Of course.” No ‘sir’ this time. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Sir.”

“Sweet boy.” Elsie’s eyes closed for the briefest moment. This one liked _praise_ , too. Oh, how much better this evening was than the afternoon which preceded it! No reason to think about beastly old demons and their horrific requests. No reason at all. Not when there were gorgeous young things like Elsie ready and waiting to be Aziraphale’s for the night.

He sorely wished he could think of some way to touch Elsie before dismissing him again. Of course, it wouldn’t be out of the realms of good manners _here_ to manufacture a touch to the hand, the arm, even the waist. But Aziraphale had been playing a subtly possessive game for a while now. He could wait. Even as he felt the nerves in his fingers itching with the need to _touch._

“Thank you, darling.” Aziraphale gave him one warm smile — Elsie seemed to melt slightly — before returning decisively to his paper.

For the rest of the evening, Elsie was wonderfully attentive. Aziraphale finally relaxed enough to read the evening paper. Whenever he felt his thoughts sliding a little too far towards certain demonic entities, he would look up, catch Elsie’s eye, and within the minute his new friend would come sidling over. Elsie proved a delightful distraction from any unwanted thoughts.

The first time he came to refresh Aziraphale’s brandy, their fingers brushed deliciously over the glass. When Elsie returned the filled glass, Aziraphale skimmed a light fingertip over the protruding bone on Elsie’s wrist, under the cuff of his sleeve, before he accepted the glass with a grateful smile. Elsie’s skin was smooth and warm and he stayed so obediently still when Aziraphale touched him. Lovely.

Later in the evening, as Aziraphale put away his paper and got out his cigarette case, Elsie appeared by his side unbidden.

“Need a light, sir?” Elsie asked, crouching down in front of Aziraphale’s armchair. 

Aziraphale appreciatively took in the sight of the young man nearly on his knees in front of him. Elsie was proving to be a decadent combination of innocent obedience and wicked temptation. 

“All right, then,” he said, as if _he_ was indulging Elsie. He put away his cigarette case and placed a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t fail to notice the way Elsie’s eyes tracked his hands, his mouth. Elsie lit a match from the matchbook he had brought and let the sulfur burn off for a moment before holding it up to him. Aziraphale leaned forward and lit his cigarette, face quite close to Elsie’s fine-boned hands. 

He leaned back in his chair, drawing on his cigarette with a contented sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elsie’s eyes fixed to his face.

“Very good, sir?” Elsie asked after a moment, still crouched at Aziraphale’s knee. Aziraphale looked down his nose at the young man. It was an act, of course, they were both acting. The boy’s vacillation between acting like a little tart and “sir”ing Aziraphale every third word, Aziraphale’s cool indifference and fond indulgent smiles. Their acts were well suited, one to the other. Aziraphale felt the power Elsie ascribed to him and his body thrummed with it. 

“Very nearly,” Aziraphale admitted. Elsie had pushed their interaction further by crouching by his feet, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to make his desires clear. “I’d like you to come sit with me soon, young man.”

“Just an hour more, sir, then I’m all yours.”

Aziraphale reached out, placed a hand Elsie’s shoulder, squeezed. “I’m glad to hear it. And, Elsie?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you be so kind as to fetch me a book from the library? I’ve finished my paper.” Aziraphale’s hand was still on Elsie’s shoulder. He let his fingers twitch up to stroke against Elsie’s collar.

“Any one in particular?” Elsie asked, voice shaking a bit, but still remembered his manners. “Sir?”

Such a _good boy_ , Aziraphale thought, with a twinge of excitement somewhere around his navel. He took another drag from his cigarette.

“Bring me one of your favorites,” Aziraphale told him. “Perhaps I’ll read it to you later.”

“I will, sir.”

Aziraphale did not immediately remove his hand from Elsie’s neck and shoulder, but enjoyed the feeling of Elsie’s warm skin, his thudding heartbeat under his fingertips. Elsie, good lamb that he was, made no move to get up until Aziraphale withdrew his hand some moments later. 

As Elsie headed for the library, Aziraphale allowed his eyes to close and sat back in his chair as he smoked. He found himself sharply anticipating the next quiet few hours spent with this sweet and alluring young man. 

Should he take Elsie to bed, too?

Well. To tell the truth, it certainly sounded appealing. Elsie had been such lovely mix of pliancy and plain want for Aziraphale. It had been at least a decade since his last _indulgence_. Perhaps longer. The thought of Elsie’s slim thighs draped over his own, the thought of his own broad chest against Elsie’s thin one, well. Aziraphale took a calming breath. Yes, bedding Elsie certainly sounded appealing.

Unfortunately, thoughts of Elsie’s physique called to mind completely unbidden images of Crowley. This late in the evening, several drinks in, it was harder to lie to himself, to pretend that a significant draw of Elsie’s was not his physical likeness to Crowley. Crowley, who Aziraphale found so often beguiling, entrancing — even attractive. Crowley, who was more dear to him than he could rightly articulate. Crowley, who had been, completely unbeknownst to Aziraphale, plotting a way to leave his side — to leave the world! — once and for all.

Well, it was harder to lie to oneself in this state, yes, but not impossible. 

Elsie was a charming and handsome young man who had shown not insignificant interest in Aziraphale. Aziraphale was a free angel, free to do as he wished (within the appropriate bounds, of course). And if he wished to bed an attractive young man, one who so clearly desired Aziraphale as he was desired in return, well. So he would.

He stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. He’d gone and ruined the second half of the cigarette with his sour thoughts of Crowley. Who was probably out having a _lovely_ time now, fraternizing with any of the other _lots_ of people he’d rather spend time with, who almost certainly did not care for Crowley’s wellbeing as Aziraphale did.

Anyhow. A waste of a cigarette, really. He’d have to have another one later.

Just in time to save him from another bout of bad temper, Elsie arrived, neat leather bound book in hand.

“I’ve brought one of Miss Austen’s, sir,” he said rather proudly, holding out the book. “You said to bring one of my favorites. So, I have.”

Aziraphale reached up with one hand to stroke Elsie’s jacketed forearm as he took the book with the other. Touching Elsie, even through his shirt and jacket, calmed his nerves which had been frazzling. Absentmindedly, he slid the hand on Elsie’s forearm down to his now free hand, and drew Elsie’s hand up to his hair. Aziraphale leaned into the touch he’d orchestrated for himself and examined the book he’d been brought as Elsie stroked at his hair softly.

“ _Persuasion_ ,” he said, looking up from the title page and meeting Elsie’s not-quite-yellow eyes. “Terribly romantic.”

For just a split second, a look of pain crossed Elsie’s face. When it passed, he buried his fingers more firmly into Aziraphale’s curls. “Yes, sir.”

Aziraphale turned his head towards Elsie’s hand as Elsie drew it downwards to cup his cheek. “I know you’ve still work to do. Off you run, sweet, and I’ll see you shortly, I trust.” Feeling emboldened by the touch and his earlier conviction, Aziraphale turned further to drop a kiss on Elsie’s palm.

“You will, sir,” Elsie breathed, before scampering off to finish his working responsibilities. 

The thought of that quick look of pain that had passed over Elsie’s features only made Aziraphale more determined to take the young man to bed. He felt sure he recognized a kindred nature in Elsie’s pain. Perhaps, as Elsie took Aziraphale’s mind off his own woes, Aziraphale could similarly alleviate Elsie’s burden.

Determined to pass the remainder of the hour until Elsie joined him at last without sinking into any further black moods, Aziraphale opened _Persuasion_ and began to read.

It proved difficult to read _Persuasion_ without identifying somewhat with the young Anne Elliot and falling into another temper, but Aziraphale just about managed it.

* * *

Aziraphale was jolted out of his book by the soft _snk_ of a decanter of brandy being set down on the table next to his armchair. He looked up to find Elsie close at hand, setting down as well a plate with a few small pastries on it.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said warmly.

Elsie had removed his waiter’s apron and was looking dashing in his dark suit. Standing next to Aziraphale’s armchair, looking rather unsure of himself, he suddenly seemed quite young indeed. Aziraphale felt a rush of longing to protect this young man, his for the night.

“Hello, sir,” Elsie said. “Er - shall I call you anything else? Naomi?”

Aziraphale considered a moment. He found the convention of adopted names utterly charming, and was quite fond of his. But when one looked ahead to the rest of the night — well. He imagined Elsie calling him _Naomi._

Constance had been right, earlier in he evening, talking about Crowley as Aziraphale’s _Ruth._ Foolish though it was, he didn’t want anybody calling him _Naomi_ in the midst of any flirtation or sexual congress unless he could respond _to_ his Ruth.

Not to _admit_ that he thought of Crowley in that manner, not to _admit_ that! It didn’t bear thinking about, not really!

A shuffle to the side of his chair brought his attention back to the present moment. Ah. Yes.

“‘Sir’ will do nicely down here, Elsie,” Aziraphale said. Perhaps he’d tell the young man his name — at least his facsimile of a human name — later, in private. Perhaps not. “Do sit down, darling.”

A second armchair had helpfully appeared quite close to Aziraphale’s, and Elsie curled himself into it, body curved over one of the arms so as to be closer to Aziraphale. (Seeing him thus perched, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of the way Crowley had acquainted himself so familiarly with the sofa in the bookshop’s backroom. Even Elsie’s particular relationship to furniture somehow reminded Aziraphale of the demon.)

Aziraphale poured a second glass of brandy and held it out to Elsie. The firelight played so becomingly on his fine pale cheek that Aziraphale could not resist reaching up a hand and running a gentle finger along his cheekbone. Elsie leaned into the touch like a pleased cat.

Aziraphale asked after Elsie’s day, and Elsie shared a coquettish grin and an evasive answer about how it was better now, after all.

“Will you tell me how long you’ve been serving here?”

“Oh, five or six years now, I believe, sir. It’s a fine situation.”

“You enjoy your work, then?”

“Oh, yes, sir. The gentlemen who comes to the club are very kind, very interesting to speak to of an evening.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Aziraphale reached out with a little spark of angelic power. As far as he could tell, Elsie was telling the truth, though there was still something about him that seemed unspeakably sad to Aziraphale. Still: Aziraphale was glad Elsie seemed to be more or less content in his situation. It made him feel far less likely to be taking advantage of the young man beside him.

“How are you finding Miss Austen, sir?” Elsie asked him, settling deeper into his chair with his brandy.

“Delightful as ever,” Aziraphale said. “Poor Anne Elliot has just gone to Uppercross.”

“The poor girl,” Elsie agreed, but then shook his head and clicked his tongue. “She should have married her Captain Wentworth when first he asked.”

“Don’t you find Wentworth so dreadfully harsh when first they reconcile? He makes such a lot of fuss about Anne’s inconstant mind, but I think that given all she knew at the time, she made the only reasonable choice.”

Elsie shook his head again and took a sip of his brandy. “No, sir, she should have told him yes the first time. No matter what Lady Russell said or how reasonable it sounded. She loved him. When there’s someone you love, you ought to stick with them.” 

A shadow crossed over Elsie’s face. Aziraphale felt taken aback. He hadn’t expected Elsie’s disapproval of Anne Elliot’s romantic choices. Nor had he expected his own deep feelings in defense of Anne and in reproach of Wentworth.

He felt like he ought to defend Anne again. It hadn’t been her _fault._ She had taken the advice of those who _knew better._ What else could the dear girl have done? And anyhow, it had all worked out in the end.

As he opened his mouth to tell Elsie so, the young man’s words played over again in his mind. _When there’s someone you love, you ought to stick with them._

Well, the young man wasn’t _wrong_ , not exactly.

Aziraphale sighed and told him so. Elsie blinked, and the dark look cleared from his face.

“Maybe silly to get worked up over a book, anyhow, sir. Will you read it to me?” Elsie was smiling over at Aziraphale so sweetly it was as if nothing strange had passed between them. His auburn hair fell boyishly over his forehead. His pale amber eyes met Aziraphale’s so openly and warmly. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back. He was suddenly so grateful for an evening spent in this young man’s company.

“Of course, darling,” he said. On a whim, he took out his cigarette case. He’d spoiled his one earlier with unpleasant thoughts, and having a cigarette while reading Austen to the handsome man at his side sounded like just the thing. Before taking one himself, he offered the case to Elsie.

Elsie took two from the silver, wing-embossed case. “You’re very kind. I’ll light yours, sir.” And he did — placed one of the cigarettes into his own mouth and lit it from the matchbook he still carried in his trouser pocket. Aziraphale’s focus narrowed in to the way Elsie’s lips wrapped around the thin cigarette. He reached out to take the lit cigarette from Elsie’s thin fingers, breathing rather shallowly.

He kept his eyes on Elsie as he lit his own cigarette. The warmth from the fireplace and the match he held snagged on his fine cheekbones, washed his face in a soft yellow glow. He was quite a picture. 

When Elsie had settled back into his own chair, Aziraphale brought up the Austen with one hand, and picked up where he had left off, aloud this time. Elsie leaned his elbows on the arm of his chair, stretching closer to Aziraphale, and settled his sharp chin into the cradle of one of his hands. For the first few pages, Aziraphale looked up every few lines to take a drag of his cigarette just to see Elsie hanging on his every word. Reading Austen’s clever prose, relaxing with a cigarette by the fire, and gazing upon Elsie’s handsome features at regular intervals — Aziraphale’s nerves felt well and truly settled. He was _so_ glad he had come to the club tonight.

By the time his cigarette was finished, Aziraphale had lost himself in the narrative. He didn’t do the voices, as he did in the comfort of his own bookshop with Crowley as his sole audience, but it was a near thing. _Persuasion_ was truly a delight.

Around the scene at the close of chapter seven, in which Captain Wentworth spoke so derisively (if obliquely) of Anne Elliot, Aziraphale noticed that Elsie had pulled back slightly in his chair. After speaking the final words of that chapter, he looked up to check on his companion properly, and was startled and alarmed to see tears coursing down the young man’s cheeks.

Elsie didn't seem to be looking back at Aziraphale, absorbed in watching the way he twisted his hands together as his shoulders shook with his quiet weeping.

Of course, it was quite an affecting scene, but Aziraphale had not expected so intense a reaction.

He couldn’t exactly let it go unchecked, could he? Any pleasant feelings Aziraphale had been delighting in had been replaced with a squirmy feeling of uneasiness. 

Most of the uneasiness told him that he could not let this tragic behavior carry on. Clearly Elsie was deeply moved by something or other, and Aziraphale was, whether he liked it or not, a representative of God’s love. He took a very deep breath to commit himself to being _loving_ and _empathetic._

“Darling, come here,” Aziraphale told Elsie, once he got his heart in the right place. He set the book on the table and reached out for Elsie with both arms. He gathered the young man tenderly onto his lap. Elsie laid his head against Aziraphale’s collarbone. He was shaking, just a bit. 

Aziraphale deftly pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve before wrapping one of his arms around Elsie. With his free hand, he reached up and dabbed at Elsie’s cheeks.

“There, there, love,” he told him, rubbing his back with one hand, crooning softly into his ear. “What’s the problem, then? Will you tell me? Tell your Naomi what’s troubling you?”

This only served to trigger a fresh wave of still-silent tears in Elsie, but even so he cuddled closer into Aziraphale’s chest, so Aziraphale figured he probably oughtn’t stop.

“Shh, shh,” he murmured kindly, rocking Elsie slightly in his lap now. “There you are. It’s all right.” 

Aziraphale couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of annoyance that his attempted seduction had gone quite so poorly. He felt a significantly larger twinge of annoyance at himself for having such an un-angelic thought when one of God’s creatures so clearly needed love. He took in a breath and, as he let it out, concentrated on cocooning himself and Elsie in a warm circle of peacefulness. He kept muttering nonsense reassurances in Elsie’s ear and rubbing his back. After a few moments, Elsie took the handkerchief Aziraphale still held to his cheeks, and Aziraphale used that hand to card softly through Elsie’s auburn hair. It was terribly soft.

A few more moments in Aziraphale’s arms and Elsie’s silent weeping and shaking had quieted. He sniffed against Aziraphale’s chest wetly and pushed up to sit more upright in the angel’s lap, looking Aziraphale in the eye now.

The firelight hit his pale eyes so they glowed _warm._ Aziraphale took in Elsie’s eyes, his sharply-boned face, the feel of his long, skinny form wrapped up in Aziraphale’s embrace, and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest. _Crowley — !_

But it wouldn’t do to let his mind wander. He reminded himself that tonight, all he would think of was _Elsie._ Who had, after all, begun to speak.

“I’m so sorry, really, sir, blubbering all over you like that. Your way with the words, it’s just so — as though I really believe what you’re saying? It’s lovely, is all. And it made me think of…well, I shouldn’t say, you don’t need to hear about anything like that. I’m fine for us to continue our time together, if you still want me.” Elsie flashed Aziraphale a winning, if slightly watery, grin.

“Oh, you silly thing, hush,” Aziraphale said, drawing Elsie back into his chest softly. He looked so shockingly like Crowley like this, somehow. Aziraphale knew what Crowley _looked_ like when he cried. It was easier to merely focus on holding Elsie. Aziraphale did not know what Crowley _felt_ like in his arms, on his lap. 

“There’s no need to apologize,” he continued gently. “And, darling, if you want to speak about what happened that made you weep so, I’d be glad to hear of it.”

“Oh, no sir, I couldn’t possibly,” Elsie said, but it sounded as though he wished Aziraphale would ask again. So he did.

“But I don’t want you to think I don’t _want_ you, sir, if I tell you,” Elsie hedged.

Aziraphale frowned down at Elsie. He was _trying_ , here. “Young man, believe it or not, I care about you for more than just that lovely bottom sitting in my lap. If you don’t wish to tell me, I’ll carry on as though nothing untoward has happened, but if you wish for a confidant, I promise you I’m all ears.”

Elsie sniffed prettily and cuddled his head into Aziraphale’s chest.

“Since you’re so good to ask. _Persuasion_ is my favorite in part because I rather fancy myself Anne Elliot. And I had my Captain Wentworth, sure enough. But I don’t expect he is waiting for me at all.”

“You rejected him?” Aziraphale asked. His mouth was dry, suddenly. He reached around Elsie for his brandy.

“I’m afraid I did, sir,” Elsie said, sounding miserable. “He’s poor, like me. But he wanted me. For keeps, he said. But I had a patron at the time, and, well — I thought — you know, if I’m going to be sinning away like this, I may as well be looked after. So I told Jimmy ‘no.’ I’ve not seen him much, since. But very shortly after I left him, I became sure I’d made the wrong choice. I’ve only become more sure. But I can’t seem to find my way back to him. And anyhow, after I behaved so awfully, he must hate me.”

Speech finished, he tucked his forehead firmly against Aziraphale’s shoulder, taking gasping little breaths as if trying to stave off more tears.

Aziraphale felt woefully unprepared to be having this conversation. He needed to buy some time to think.

He held Elsie with the arm not holding his brandy and smudged an awkward kiss onto the crown of the young man’s head.

“You poor thing,” he said after a moment. It seemed to do the trick as Elsie gave one more half-stifled sob before tension seemed to flee his body all at once and he sagged against Aziraphale. 

They stayed like that in silence for a few moments, Aziraphale making nonsensical shushing noises and saying things like “there, there.” He began to feel that he ought to say something properly comforting. It was difficult, because he kept thinking about the conversation he’d had with Crowley earlier. Had he been like Elsie, doing the rejecting? Opting to stay safe and comfortable, if apart from…companionship?

Of course not. Crowley had wanted a means by which to leave _him._ If _anyone_ was rejecting anyone, it certainly wasn’t Aziraphale.

He forced his mind onto an easier train of thought.

“Should it be any consolation to you, darling,” he began. “I don’t believe that your time spent with your Jimmy would be sinful at all.”

Elsie gave a watery sounding laugh. “No?”

“No,” Aziraphale answered firmly. “Counter-cultural, to be sure. But I do not believe that love, in any form, can be a sin against God.”

Elsie pushed himself up to sitting so that he could grin down into Aziraphale’s face. The effect was somewhat diminished by his red eyes and nose, but the grin was charming nonetheless. “But me and the gentleman I was with when Jimmy asked me. Me with anyone here at the club. Whatever activities _we_ find ourselves up to later, sir. I don’t mean to offend, but I’m not sure I’ve fallen in love just from a little attention, and I don’t imagine you’ve fallen in love with me either. Plenty of sinful behavior with no love in sight, is all I’m saying.”

He was laughing at Aziraphale! After weeping in his lap not moments before!

Aziraphale frowned, but he was mostly play-acting. They’d somehow got themselves back to flirting. Thank Heaven. “Of course, I feel that I’m called to love all God’s creatures. Don’t you? And if I love some of them a bit more physically, well,” he dropped the arm around Elsie’s back to pinch lightly at his bottom, “I can’t say I see anything wrong with that, either.”

Elsie wriggled playfully against Aziraphale’s hand. “Well. Since you sound so sure.”

Aziraphale ran his hand luxuriously back up Elsie’s back, all the way up to grip at the base of the young man’s neck.

He was rewarded with Elsie’s full-body shiver and the sight of the playful grin dropping off sharply as Elsie gasped.

“I’m absolutely certain.”

He realized he was still holding his brandy glass. Before he set it down, he took the glass and slowly raised it to Elsie’s mouth, pressed the rim of the glass against Elsie’s lower lip. Elsie kept his eyes locked with Aziraphale’s as he carefully fed the young man a small sip of the brandy. He felt heat flare up again in his belly. This is what he had been craving since the first interactions he’d had with Elsie before dinner. This pliancy, this willingness to follow. This lithe, sharp-angled man curled in his lap and _focusing_ on Aziraphale. 

He set the brandy glass down on the little side table and brought his hand back to Elsie’s face. Gripped his chin, pressed his thumb into the place on Elsie’s lower lip where the glass had just rested. Elsie darted out his tongue, flicked it over Aziraphale’s thumb fast as anything.

“If you’re no longer concerned about _sinning_ ,” Aziraphale told him, just to draw out the moment, “I’d like to give you a kiss. Just a little one. Then I want you to curl up on my lap and let me pet you while I read you more Austen. But when I do, no more tears. Tell me: may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Elsie whispered, breath rushing warm over Aziraphale’s thumb. 

“Good lad,” he told Elsie, and kissed him. His lips were terribly soft, and already parted for Aziraphale. He dipped his tongue inside, tasted the brandy he’d shared with Elsie. Elsie made a lovely, gasping kind of noise that Aziraphale made a note to pursue later, but for the moment, he pulled away. “Lovely.”

“Oh, sir,” Elsie said, collapsing into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale could feel him breathing quickly. 

“Now I’d like you to settle there like a good boy while I read to you. Will it be too upsetting if I carry on as we were? I can find us a lighter section.”

Rather than answering, Elsie said, “May I touch you a little, sir?”

Aziraphale considered for a moment. “You may. Just a little, mind.”

“And will you touch me? While you read to me, I mean?”

“I’m sure I will, Elsie, if you give me permission to.”

“I hope you _do_ , sir. And if I’m touching you,” Elsie raised a hand to brush over Aziraphale’s jacket-covered chest, “and if you’re touching me,” (Aziraphale obligingly drew a finger over the back of Elsie’s neck), “then I don’t know if I’ll be able to even _think_ about being sad.”

The little minx! Aziraphale was becoming quite fond of him indeed. “Very good, then.”

Aziraphale retrieved the Austen and reached his hand up to tangle in Elsie’s hair. Elsie shivered again and cuddled close to Aziraphale, lifted a hand to stroke gently at the side of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale stretched his neck slightly to the side, savoring the touch. He rather fancied keeping Elsie on his lap for a while, seated downstairs as they were. Fancied the idea of anyone looking over to their shadowy corner by the fire and seeing this lithe, attractive man curled into him, at his mercy. Content with the picture they made, he began to read.

He was less focused on the words this time, mostly using the reading as an excuse to draw out their interaction and tease Elsie. He began by playing with Elsie’s hair, then curled his fingers around his ear. That earned him an enticing little whine, so he kept it up for another moment longer. As the pages turned, Aziraphale slowly slipped his hand down Elsie’s arm, curving around his elbow and ultimately ending with Elsie’s hand in his. He moved his fingers delicately over Elsie’s, over his palm, playing with his hand as he read. Through it all, Elsie stayed close and responsive, hand brushing sometimes over Aziraphale’s neck, his shoulders. 

Aziraphale did skip over some of the more _yearning_ passages of _Persuasion._ It wouldn’t do, he thought, to distract either of them from the task at hand here.

As he reached the end of chapter nine, tension high when Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot found themselves in a room quite alone aside from a child Anne was looking after, Aziraphale released Elsie’s hand and allowed himself the boldness of slipping it around Elsie’s middle, under his jacket. Elsie’s waist felt taut and strong under his soft hands. Aziraphale could feel his breath coming in short little gasps. He carefully pet at Aziraphale’s chest with the back of one delicate hand.

He finished the chapter and carefully set the book down.

In their current position, Aziraphale could not see Elsie’s face. “Elsie,” Aziraphale said, pitching his voice slightly lower than when he had been reading, “Look at me, please.”

Elsie pushed himself to do so. He had closed his eyes, and for a split second they remained closed. In that brief moment, he reminded Aziraphale so strongly of a sleepy Crowley that he nearly gasped aloud. But then Elsie blinked his eyes open, sweet and slow, and Aziraphale found eyes that were amber, not yellow, and pupils that were round and dilated with lust, not dark serpentine slits. Elsie looked exquisite.

“You needn’t say yes to this, but — may I take you upstairs, darling?” Elsie nodded. “Shall I kiss you again?” Another nod. Aziraphale pressed his lips briefly to Elsie’s. “Shall I touch you? Make you feel wonderful?”

“Please,” Elsie said, voice soft but clear. Aziraphale kissed him again at that, deeper this time. With a small part of his mind, he wondered if anyone was looking in their direction, noticing stodgy old Naomi licking into the mouth of the most attractive serving boy in the establishment. Elsie made more of those little encouraging noises. His hand on Aziraphale’s chest twitched and grabbed at his shirt. After a few moments of some of the most delightful kissing Aziraphale had experienced in nearly a century, he let up.

“Up you get,” he told Elsie, who only fussed a little, but did as he was told once Aziraphale raised his eyebrows pointedly. 

If Aziraphale had wondered about their being noticed before, he certainly was aware of the glances they received as he led Elsie by the hand to the stairs at the back of the room. Most of the men who had stayed were similarly occupied with staff or with each other, but a few did pointedly take a moment to glance up at Aziraphale and Elsie. Aziraphale felt a perverse sense of pride in being observed. _See_ , he thought, perhaps nonsensically, _I am worthy. I have the affections of this beautiful creature. I have_ not _been abandoned by all._

He secured an empty bedchamber for himself and Elsie for the evening and led the young man into it, turning the lock on the door behind them. A fire had been banked for the night and a sconce with gaslight burned cheerily by the bed.

Aziraphale stepped towards Elsie, crowded into his space, took his face in his hands, kissed him. Elsie’s knees buckled and he clutched at the lapels of Aziraphale’s jacket. Aziraphale gripped at his little waist and groaned as Elsie opened his mouth to him. The time for teasing had passed, and Aziraphale _wanted._

With an effort, he pulled away from their kiss — Elsie’s mouth followed his, _excellent_ creature —and removed his jacket, which he set aside neatly. Then he moved to sit on the bed and began to loosen his cravat. 

“Undress for me please, darling,” he said. He schooled his tone to sound just this side of careless, but in truth his focus never wavered from Elsie. 

Elsie seemed to be transfixed with Aziraphale’s hands, now loosening his own collar and undoing the first button or two in the placket of his shirt.

“Elsie?”

The young man caught himself. He shrugged off his jacket quickly, laid it on a nearby table. Aziraphale pretended to busy himself with folding his cravat as Elsie undressed himself, unbuttoning his waistcoat, the upper half of his shirt. By the time Elsie had shrugged out of his suspenders and lifted his shirt over his head, Aziraphale had set the cravat aside and moved deliberately onto his cufflinks. As Elsie worked on removing his shoes, socks, and trousers, Aziraphale slowly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He did not wish to undress entirely, not just yet, but a modicum of comfort was to be appreciated. It occurred to him that removing his own socks and shoes would prevent any awkward pauses later in the evening, and so he did that as well. He looked up from his task just in time to see Elsie loosen his drawers and drop that final item of clothing to the floor.

“Oh, my _dear_ boy,” Aziraphale said, forgetting for a moment his earlier resolve not to use that turn of phrase, so often reserved for Crowley. He instantly regretted it.

He took in the young man’s skinny shoulders, kissed by the glow of the fire. The sharpness of his collarbones. The tendons in his thin neck. 

Throughout history, necklines had varied greatly. Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s neck and collarbones more often than was strictly comfortable. He _knew_ he was looking upon sweet Elsie, and not that wretched demon.

And yet the similarity was so profound as to be extraordinarily distressing.

He let his gaze rake harshly down the rest of Elsie’s body. He’d had to have seen Crowley naked at some point or another, probably, but never like this. Had never admired Crowley’s soft pink nipples, or the thin, soft covering of fat and skin over otherwise taut abdominals. Certainly had never admired Crowley’s lovely cock, already flushed and hard against his stomach.

Oh bless it. Here he was eyeing Elsie up and thinking of things that were _perfectly irrelevant._

“Come here,” he said, reaching out an imperious hand. What he needed to do was _touch._ That would get his head back in the right place.

He watched Elsie’s muscled thighs as he walked toward the bed. _Elsie's thighs_ , he thought at himself firmly. _Look at those beautiful thighs which belong to Elsie._

He ran a finger up the outside of one of those beautiful thighs belonging to Elsie, ran it further up his side ’til he could grasp Elsie’s waist. He stroked at the front of Elsie’s stomach with his thumb.

“You are beautiful, though,” he said, looking up into Elsie’s amber eyes. Elsie stared back down at him attentively, chest moving with his breath. If Aziraphale had been somewhat distracted internally, Elsie did not seem to have been bothered by it. “Kiss me, darling?” he asked.

Elsie obliged him.

With Elsie’s mouth pressed so cleverly against his, it was easy to focus on the matter at hand. He could focus on all of that beautiful skin under his fingers, the softness of the lips he was kissing, the choked, gasping noises he heard when he curled his tongue just so. 

The problem, he realized then, is that while it was very easy to focus on how delightful these present sensations were, it was much more difficult to keep the immediacy of Elsie’s personhood in his mind.

He knew, of course, that he was kissing Elsie. He knew how he got to this point. He even knew a small part of the young man’s story. Sweet Elsie!

But as his body took more control of the proceedings, reacting instinctively to the way Elsie’s body felt against his, it was _very difficult_ not to imagine another tall, trim, auburn-haired man writhing in his arms, gasping against his mouth. 

And if he grasped more harshly around Elsie’s waist, slid a possessive hand over his bottom, yanked him closer to Aziraphale’s body between his spread thighs. Dug his fingertips harshly into his skinny hips. Showed him exactly what he thought of him planning his _exit strategy_ …

Aziraphale grunted in frustration and pulled Elsie down onto the bed, more harshly than he meant to, but Elsie only moaned and went willingly, chasing after Aziraphale’s mouth.

“No,” Aziraphale told him, giving him a light shove on the shoulder so he was forced to lay back on the bed. Elsie looked even more pleased. “I’d like to bring you off.” A sudden bright thought: “I’d like to watch you while I do. Watch you as I bring you to your crisis.”

Elsie gave a broken, half cut-off moan. “Please, sir.”

“And then after that,” Aziraphale added, mind already racing ahead, “I think I’d like to fuck you, young man. Will that be all right?”

“Yes,” Elsie breathed.

After that, Aziraphale wasted no time taking Elsie in hand. 

It worked a little better, like this, working Elsie over and keeping his eyes open while he did it. As he touched him, Elsie’s voice went all high and needy and he sighed prettily and kept calling Aziraphale “sir.” 

“Sweet Elsie,” he purred into the young man’s ear when his hips began to jerk erratically. He looked down the line of their bodies, appreciated Elsie’s nakedness against his waistcoat and trousers. “You look absolutely beautiful like this, you know. Will you show me how lovely you look when you come? Will you come for me, Elsie?”

Elsie grabbed at Aziraphale’s arm as his whole body tensed up and he spilled over Aziraphale’s fist.

“You darling thing,” Aziraphale crooned at him. He stroked Elsie through the aftershocks of his crisis. “Lovely Elsie. Just as gorgeous as I had expected. You are so good to allow me to see you like that. I’m so pleased with you, darling.”

Elsie preened under the attention, rolling his shoulders against the bed. He pressed himself up to kiss Aziraphale again, panting a little, cheeks very pink. Aziraphale kissed back indulgently, and offered a quick silent prayer of thanks that he’d managed to keep his mind on his partner.

After just a moment of kissing, Elsie’s fingers were on the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Please — sir — let me — ” Elsie gasped, worrying at the buttons, but not yet loosening them. He lowered his mouth to Aziraphale’s neck, kissed at the space between Aziraphale’s jaw and neck. “May I?”

Aziraphale moaned at the feeling of Elsie’s clever, warm lips against his skin. “Yes,” he managed, pleased that Elsie had asked. “Yes, darling, do.”

Elsie kept kissing at Aziraphale’s neck like he was made for it as he undid the buttons of the waistcoat. When he had done, he pulled back enough to be able to see as he pushed Aziraphale’s waistcoat from his shoulders, then conscientiously collected it and laid it aside gently. Aziraphale was so fond of this boy!

His heart nearly stopped when Elsie looked back from setting his waistcoat neatly aside and let out a startled ‘hah!’ of laughter.

It was nothing like Crowley’s laugh, and yet between the startled shout that sounded at once mocking and fond and the look on Elsie’s face, Aziraphale was somehow reminded _again_ and _uncomfortably_ of the demon.

“What in the world are you gawking at?” Aziraphale demanded, or tried to demand. He felt a bit sharpish from the reminder of Crowley, but still stupidly pliant from Elsie’s kisses on his neck. The result was that the reprimand fell rather softly.

“Oh sir. Oh I am sorry.” To his credit, Elsie did look quite pink, and not just from sexual exertion. “I just haven’t seen embroidered braces like that since I watched my Grandad get dressed when I was a boy. Was just a surprise, is all. Really, they’re lovely.”

Aziraphale made a brave attempt at recovery. Perhaps he’d take offense at such a comment from _some_ parties, but with Elsie, he felt quite in control.

“Are you calling me old fashioned, young man?” Aziraphale asked. He shucked the braces off himself and surged forward to catch Elsie’s mouth with his own. He used his broad shoulders to his advantage, bore the young man down on the bed, still kissing him like mad, slotting his hips between Elsie’s. When Elsie was writhing and moaning prettily beneath him again, he pulled back. Elsie whined in protest. “I’ll have you know I’m quite fond of them.”

“Very good, sir,” Elsie nodded quickly. “You’re right of course. Please don’t stop.”

Aziraphale laughed, delighted at Elsie’s desperation. A piece of Elsie’s fringe had fallen over his forehead; Aziraphale leaned down to smooth it off his face. “A moment,” he told the young man, who gave a gratifying little moan of frustration. 

“You’ll be as patient as I tell you to,” he told Elsie briskly, moving off the bed to finish undressing.

Elsie gasped a little and pushed himself up on his elbows to watch Aziraphale disrobe. “Yes, sir.”

He had a saucy kind of grin on his face. Aziraphale wanted to wipe it right off.

Aziraphale did away with his shirt, trousers, and drawers efficiently. When he had set the things neatly aside, he looked back to see Elsie eyeing him with a hungry look on his face. The saucy grin was nowhere to be found. Oh, _yes._

“Recline on the pillows and lie still,” he told Elsie in a low voice. Elsie scrambled to comply. 

When Elsie had settled, Aziraphale climbed back onto the bed, full cock swinging heavy against his thigh. He nudged Elsie’s slim legs apart and settled in between them.

“Can I fuck you now, darling?” he asked. Sweetly.

“Oh yes sir,” Elsie said in a rush. His hips canted up at Aziraphale, who clamped one soft hand against a sharp hip bone.

“I won’t _require_ complete stillness,” he said (rather magnanimously, he thought), “But do give it a go, won’t you?” He rubbed his thumb where he’d grabbed at Elsie’s hip. Elsie keened.

He kept his hips still, though, as Aziraphale removed the cap from a vial of oil he’d miracled into his pocket earlier and retrieved when undressing. 

He took one slick finger, touched the inside of one of Elsie’s knees, watched the path his finger took as he drew a shaky line down the inside of Elsie’s thigh. He loved this part, the teasing, the preparation itself. He loved the way men twitched and shook as he reached the seam between their thigh and their groin. The gasping breath as he reached their perineum, any number of noises his partner could make as he touched the sweet, tight ring of muscle between his legs.

Elsie cried out wildly.

_What sound would Crowley make?_

Aziraphale firmly pushed the thought aside. He was done with that sort of thought for tonight.

He worked a careful finger into Elsie’s body, watching closely as he softened and opened to Aziraphale. This precious act never failed to make his breath catch in his throat. Far from sinful - the mutual trust required of and in one’s partner, even just for a quick, anonymous dalliance, seemed to Aziraphale to be wholly reminiscent of ethereal, transcendental love. 

He kept one hand stroking at Elsie’s hip, gentling him as he tried so hard to keep his hips still at Aziraphale’s request. In time, he added a second finger, then a third, felt Elsie stretch willingly around his thick fingers.

When he felt Elsie might be ready, he looked up to see the young man’s face.

This proved to be a mistake.

Elsie had turned his head into the mess of pillows around the top of the bed to stifle his shouts of pleasure. When Aziraphale looked up, he saw a long expanse of pale, lithe body, the ropy tendons of a slender neck, the fine outline of a proud nose, the sharp jaw and cheekbone which were so dear to him. He saw red hair dusted with candlelight and the hint of closed eyes against such terrible intimacy. In essence, he saw Crowley, writhing on Aziraphale’s fingers and shoving his red mouth against the pillows lest his cries grow too loud.

Aziraphale lost himself for a moment then, thrusting his fingers harder against Crowley, caught between his hands, growled his contempt at the demon’s foolish new plan, twisted his fingers ruthlessly, aiming for the spot inside Crowley that would make him scream, make him regret that he would ever think of leaving Aziraphale. 

The young man did cry out spectacularly then. He seemed to relish the rough treatment.

Aziraphale shook his head to clear it. 

“Look at me,” he ground out, overcome by the strength of the fantasy that was threatening to overtake him. “Elsie, look at me.”

Elsie wrenched his face out of the pillows, looked at Aziraphale with naked want in his blissfully human eyes.

Aziraphale sighed in relief and leaned forward to kiss Elsie. The kiss changed the angle of his fingers still inside, and Elsie gave another sharp cry against Aziraphale’s mouth. 

“How do you like this,” he breathed against the side of Elsie’s face, pressing a kiss to his sharp cheek. “How do you like a man to take you?”

“On my knees,” Elsie gasped. “On my front, like that. Please. Sir.”

Later, it would occur to Aziraphale that it had perhaps been foolish to honor that request.

At the time, however, Aziraphale only acquiesced, and kissed Elsie again before withdrawing his fingers. He sat back, directed Elsie to roll over, pulled the young man’s hips up so he was braced on his elbows and knees. As he lined his cock up at Elsie’s entrance, he reminded himself of how grateful he was to be sharing this intimacy with _Elsie._

He pushed in slowly, closing his eyes against the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. 

He realized his mistake when he felt his hips seated right against Elsie and opened his eyes.

Elsie had pushed up onto his hands and his head was dropped in between his arms. Aziraphale could no longer see his face at all. He took in the whole glorious sight, from the young man’s red hair to his whip-sharp shoulder blades to his narrow hips nestled up against Aziraphale’s thick ones. _Crowley._

What was wrong with him? He _tried_ not to. He did. As he made his first shallow thrusts, checked with Elsie about the angle, he reminded himself again and again of his partner’s identity. Any thoughts of other individuals were unpleasant facsimiles offered up by an overactive and pathetic imagination. Such thoughts were shockingly rude towards Crowley. They did _not_ accurately reflect Aziraphale’s true desires. And they were positively thoughtless towards Elsie. Aziraphale was, after all, a gentlemen, and he could show a young man a respectful and caring good time!

Aziraphale succeeded in lying to himself for about forty-five seconds.

His eyes snagged on the small of his partner’s back. He swiped a thumb through the thin layer of sweat that had collected there, his other hand still holding onto the man’s hip in a bruising grip.

_Crowley_. 

No — he wouldn’t admit to it —

On a particularly sharp thrust of Aziraphale’s hips, the man made a low, choked sound of pleasure.

_Crowley_.

The noise sounded just like something he might hear from the demon’s cruel mouth. Of course he’d make the same ridiculous (enchanting) sounds in bed. Of course Aziraphale could reduce him to nothing but needy, grasping noises. Of course Aziraphale could fuck into him harder, harder, make him feel _just a piece_ of the ache he’d caused Aziraphale that afternoon — 

_He could stop this!_

But he did not.

Aziraphale cried out with a particularly satisfying thrust, lost entirely to his fantasy. Crowley pushed back onto his cock so eagerly. His lithe body was a decadent confection under Aziraphale’s sturdy one. The muscles in his back shifted as he writhed against Aziraphale’s hips. 

It was a gorgeous sight to behold, Crowley falling apart and gasping at Aziraphale’s mercy, but Aziraphale wanted more.

He took Crowley’s shoulder in one hand, shoved him down to the bed. A high voice cried out.

“Is this all right,” Aziraphale managed. God, he needed this to be all right. The sight of Crowley splayed out on his front, arse in the air for Aziraphale, felt like it would break him.

“Yes,” came the too-high voice from Aziraphale’s partner.

But he’d heard _yes._ He laid into Crowley harshly, one hand at the juncture of neck and shoulder, the other clutching a hip. _How dare you_ , he said to Crowley, in his mind. _How dare you plan to leave me. How dare you walk away._

Another high-voiced cry broke Aziraphale’s illusion.

“Hush,” he snapped.

The young man did not quiet entirely but his high-voiced cries subsided. Ever the good boy, he communicated his pleasure in choked out little grunts and sounds. 

It would do. _God_ , how would Crowley’s voice sound in the throes of sex? How would Crowley sound when Aziraphale shoved his shoulder into the mattress and snapped his hips against the demon’s?

His body clenched around Aziraphale’s and the question was driven out of his mind. As Aziraphale fucked him steadily, Crowley writhed more and more violently under him, came closer and closer to his crisis. _Good._ Let him see how good Aziraphale could make him feel. Let him know that the angel was responsible for the height of his bliss.

He felt his own release chasing him, but willed himself to hold it off until Crowley’s. He corrected the angle of his hips until Crowley was a mess below him, whimpering with every thrust of Aziraphale’s hips, still shoving up against Aziraphale as best as he could. 

When Crowley finally came, Aziraphale allowed his thrusts to become more erratic as he nearedhis own release. He thought of filling up the demon, marking him, claiming him for his own, never letting him out of his sight again —

“Crow—“

Aziraphale’s orgasm hit him with a force he had not been prepared for. He gasped, shoving his cock into Crowley, hands spasming against Crowley’s hips. 

He remained inside Crowley, hips snugged up against his lovely bottom, as he came down from the intensity of his orgasm. Finally, he opened his eyes, taking in the gratifying site of Crowley laid out underneath him, breathing heavily and with a light sheen of sweat over his graceful back.

Aziraphale’s breathing slowly returned to normal. As he moved further away from his release, he moved closer to the unpleasant face of reality.

It was sweet Elsie with the graceful back covered in a thin layer of sweat. Sweet Elsie he’d just fucked until he’d come only on Aziraphale’s cock. Sweet Elsie he’d _essentially used as some sort of depraved sex toy._

Oh, bother.

Elsie chose that moment to turn his head enough to be able to see Aziraphale. He gave a cheeky grin, looking up at Aziraphale with those hazel-amber, _very human_ eyes.

Bother indeed.

Aziraphale gingerly pulled out of Elsie’s body. He felt it would be excellent manners to run a hand up Elsie’s back, maybe even massage his neck and shoulder a little as a brief apology for manhandling them so roughly, but suddenly the thought of touching Elsie caused a slight wave of nausea. 

He bought himself a moment by going to the washstand by the bed. He poured water into the basin, wet one of the cloths that were provided, and slowly cleaned himself up.

The most pressing problem was the lovely young man laid out on the bed who Aziraphale owed some proper attention to.

The bigger problem was the ferocity with which he had given himself over to the fantasy of _coupling with Crowley._

Aziraphale could perhaps be a depraved excuse of an angel, sometimes, but he was not a complete monster. It was very clear which of these problems required his attention.

He wet a second cloth and returned to the bed, where he turned the full force of his angelic love and devotion on young Elsie. He cleaned him up, pet at his hair, told him what a lovely job he’d done. Checked to be sure he had not been too rough. Asked if Elsie would like a cab home. When Elsie poked at Aziraphale’s chest and teased that Aziraphale was trying to get rid of him, Aziraphale quickly offered that they could stay the night at the club together instead. When Elsie proved to be the type who wanted a post-coitus cuddle, Aziraphale opened his arms and let Elsie use his chest as a pillow. He even stroked the young man’s hair until he fell asleep, _and_ he made sure he had pleasant dreams.

By the time Elsie had fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s chest, Aziraphale felt as if he’d made up _very partially_ for his poor manners.

One problem seen to, it left the other one glaring at the front of his mind.

He tried to ignore it. He even closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.

It did not.

Perhaps he could miracle up a book without disturbing Elsie? Make it so _Persuasion_ was within reaching distance instead of on the other side of the room, neglected in a trouser pocket?

He very nearly did miracle the book to himself, but at the last moment, thought better of it.

Fantasizing about Crowley had been _truly contemptible._ It was true that the church tended to over-emphasize penance, but a little sprinkled in like fine salt was necessary on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. He certainly deserved _at least_ a boring night staring at the ceiling, considering his base behavior.

What a truly dreadful day. Absolutely abominable. To go from the highest point of his _year_ — a visit in St. James’s park with Crowley! — to such utter and complete rejection. From a wonderfully diverting night in the club to the intense shame of — of allowing himself to entertain _those thoughts._

His torso seemed filled with a kind of dark cloud. Breathing seemed oddly painful, for no good reason. If he didn’t concentrate very hard, tears began to prickle behind his eyelids. How abysmal was his condition!

Elsie snuffled slightly in his sleep, cuddled closer to Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale looked down at the young man. He looked so beautiful like this, in sleep.

He looked like Crowley like this.

Oh no — no, Aziraphale would not fall victim to these foolish thoughts again!

He stared up at the ceiling stubbornly. It was his own mistake for seducing a man who looked so exactly like a younger Crowley. What had he been thinking? If he couldn’t control his thoughts, he would stare elsewhere and suffer nobly.

Elsie wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist as he settled in. Aziraphale’s focus narrowed to the sensation of Elsie’s thin body pressed into his — the narrow wrist, bony shoulder, sharp chin. _Crowley!_

Aziraphale sighed and looked down at Elsie’s sweet face. It wasn’t that there weren’t differences — of course there were. Elsie was younger than Crowley liked to present, usually. The angle of the cheekbone was not exact, to be sure. Elsie’s eyebrows were a bit thinner. But the likeness was close enough as to be startling.

He pressed his lips together, considering. Truly, the damage had been done. He’d imagined Crowley in the most intimate of ways. Imagined Elsie’s body was Crowley’s at the height of coitus. He was an odious excuse of an angel, there was no question there. He’d done the unpardonable. Crossed the line.

And if that was the case...

What was the harm?

What was the harm in imagining he glanced down at Crowley’s sleeping face? Why could he not imagine he was holding Crowley’s precious body against his chest as the demon slept? It would not be worse than what he had already done.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, allowed himself the illusion. _Oh!_ Yes. He sighed again, in happiness this time. It would feel so marvelous to hold Crowley, to know he kept the demon safe through the dark night. Not that many self respecting demons needed safety from the dark, but Crowley would insist on sleeping and leaving himself vulnerable. And how thrilling, how absolutely validating, to imagine he could offer protection to the demon. No need for _insurance_ , if Aziraphale could be there to offer protection in his stead.

He felt implicitly that these thoughts were _right_ , and yet he knew they couldn’t be. Somehow. There was a good reason they weren’t.

It was late, and Aziraphale, despite himself, was tired. It _had_ been a trying day. He could have a good think in the morning, if it proved necessary. Perhaps it wouldn’t.

He allowed himself another quick peek at Elsie’s _(Crowley’s!)_ face. Stunning. He stroked a lazy hand up and down the other man’s back.

Feeling remarkably content, Aziraphale drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Aziraphale blinked awake when the dawn light began filtering in through the window. When had he fallen asleep?

When the confusion had passed and he had identified Elsie, still snoozing happily on Aziraphale’s chest, he felt remarkably at ease. Then the details of the day — and, oh God, the night — before came flooding back to his mind.

At that moment, in the cold light of morning, Elsie began to stir where he rested in Aziraphale’s arms. He gave a contented kind of “mmm” and cuddled closer, sort of tangling his fingers in the hair covering Aziraphale’s chest.

The feeling of stale malaise that Aziraphale had been fighting off settled firmly around him as Elsie grinned up at him.

“You’re up early, sir,” the young man said. Happy. When Aziraphale just peered down at him somewhat sternly, the grin faded. “Everything all right?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You're exactly as you should be, pet,” he told Elsie, dropping his head back against the headboard and stroking Elsie’s hair. “It’s terribly bad manners to have my mind elsewhere.”

“On your other fellow, you mean,” Elsie said, even as he leaned into Aziraphale’s petting, which ceased abruptly.

“My dear lad, whatever can you mean?” he asked, very sharp indeed.

Elsie pushed himself up, grinned winningly at Aziraphale, nonplussed by his tone. “Excuse me if I’m being presumptuous, sir,” he began, and Aziraphale didn’t like the sound of this, _not at all_ , “But for one thing, I know how men are when they’re thinking of someone else. And another thing, and I may be mistaken about this, but I’m nearly certain I heard you say a name that wasn’t mine. Or at least part of one.”

Aziraphale felt heat rush to his face. He had been so sure Elsie had missed that. Had been so determined to miss it himself. He caught himself stuttering like an idiot, trying and failing to speak up in his own defense. Defeated, he dropped his head into his hands, covering with his face.

Elsie patted his shoulder consolingly and stood up. “I _am_ sorry to embarrass you, sir,” he said, and he sounded genuine. Aziraphale heard him begin to gather his clothes in preparation for dressing. “And truthfully, I don’t mean to. But now I have brought it up — it’s all right, sir, if you were. Thinking of someone else, that is. I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale looked up from where he’d hidden his face. “Kind of you,” he managed, voice very, very dry. He felt horribly exposed, naked in bed with only a sheet over his lap as Elsie dressed just a few feet away from him.

“I’m glad to be kind to you, sir. You were kind to me last night. With me crying about Jimmy and everything. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you should well know that you may not have been the only person whose mind was wandering last night. I had a lovely time, though — and I hope you did, too?”

Such a pragmatic manner about this young man! Aziraphale could hardly keep up.

Elsie had got his trousers around his waist and was pulling his shirt on over his head. Aziraphale absentmindedly mourned the disappearance of Elsie’s trim stomach. 

“I did, of course,” he said at last, as Elsie’s head reappeared over his shirt. Elsie winked at him. Aziraphale frowned back, out of principle. 

“No harm done, then,” Elsie said, slinging his suspenders over his shoulders. Aziraphale watched despondently as he put on his shoes, then reached for his jacket. 

As Elsie finished dressing at the foot of the bed, Aziraphale focused hard to get himself back together.

“Elsie,” he said, before the young man could dart out, or begin teasing him again. “Come here, please.” He held out a hand, and Elsie trotted over obediently enough to take it. “Thank you for a — a pleasant evening.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Elsie laughed at that. Not unkindly, but certainly _at_ him. He’d been feeling wrong-footed since the conclusion of their, ah. Activities _._ And Elsie’s canniness upon waking had not helped matters.

“Oh, sir, you _are_ welcome,” Elsie said, pressing a kiss onto Aziraphale’s knuckles. “Thank _you._ I hope whoever you were thinking of returns your affections, and soon. If you’re half as good to him as you were to me, he’ll be well sorted and blessed to have you. ” Aziraphale opened his mouth to say that he was sure that wasn’t feasible or even likely, thank you, but Elsie barreled onward. “And perhaps I’ll call on Jimmy, after all. If he’ll still have me .”

Aziraphale realized, by now, that there was no salvaging last night’s dynamic, the power he’d held over Elsie, in the unforgiving light of morning. He was nothing more than an old fool, still abed even as the young got dressed and got on with things. He squeezed Elsie’s hand.

“That’s the spirit. You’re a remarkable young man, darling,” he told him. He put a little angelic push behind his next words. “May you be happy and well.”

Elsie beamed down at him. “Perhaps we’ll meet again at the club, sir. Or perhaps my James will sweep me off my feet and I’ll never darken such a disreputable establishment again.” He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale, rather passionately. Aziraphale felt that he shouldn’t enjoy the kiss, not really, but Elsie was very good at it. Before Elsie let up, Aziraphale even felt his cock starting to thicken between his legs. 

Elsie did stop before Aziraphale could properly mediate the battle between his self-reproaching mind and his self-indulgent body. And thank goodness, too.

“Have a good day then, sir,” Elsie told him as he pulled away. “Take care.”

“You as well, darling,” Aziraphale told him. He patted Elsie’s hand. “Be good. Take care of yourself. If you decide to visit your young man, I wish you well.”

Aziraphale watched Elsie as he walked out of the door and, God willing, into the world and into his young man’s arms. 

He dropped his head in his hands. Utterly dismal, that was his condition.

He thought about calling for one of the valets staffed by the club to help him dress, but thought better of it. The fewer people he saw for the next month, the better. He needed to hole up in the bookshop and wait for this black cloud of a mood to pass. _Distraction_ with other beings in the mix was clearly not a good idea.

He forced himself out of the bed and began dressing despondently.

It was bad enough, he thought, fastening his sock garters, that he’d — had the _misfortune_ — to think of Crowley in the, well, the throes of passion. Worse yet that he’d enjoyed it. And yet it was simple enough to explain, really. His great distress at Crowley’s apparent proclivity to self destruction. The betrayal he’d felt that Crowley had rather spend time with other friends — that he had rather _end_ himself than stay with Aziraphale. When Aziraphale _did_ care about Crowley — he would be in such horrid trouble if their connection were discovered, but he cared all the same! Sacrificed his well being for the dear, stupid demon! And to have it thrown in his face in such a manner!

Well, Aziraphale thought to himself, pulling up his lovely embroidered suspenders. Of course it was simple enough to experience such depth of feeling and — misplace it. In such circumstances.

Perhaps a question remained as to why he had chosen that _particular_ young man to seduce. 

Perhaps another question arose pertaining to the sweet, golden rapture he’d felt imagining Crowley’s body tucked up against his in the dark night. Oh! He sat down, hard, on the edge of the bed, hands falling away from his ascot in the middle of tying it. He was struck anew with an ache in his chest as he recalled the moonlight playing on Elsie’s pale cheek, imagined that it was Crowley he was admiring. He imagined a delicate, sleeping Crowley in his arms, flushed and sated with their efforts. A Crowley who was _his_ —

Aziraphale’s eyes ached, suddenly, as if tears pressed behind them. He took a deep breath, pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, which eased the ache somewhat.

He sat up straight again. Funny, he’d bowed himself over almost in half as he sat on the side of the bed and hadn’t quite noticed. He took another intentional breath in and out. It was unsteady.

He needed to be firm with himself. He stood, walked over to the mirror, glared his reflection down as he tied his ascot with hands that were no longer shaking as they knew what was good for them.

He’d made a silly mistake the night before, that was all. In fact, he’d _had_ a silly mistake. He’d done nothing wrong, really. Certain thoughts had come to him unbidden, and he couldn’t be _responsible_ for such nonsense, could he? Surely not.

He shrugged on his coat, checked his reflection in the mirror. Spick and span. He headed downstairs, settled his bill from the night prior, and began the short walk home.

The night hadn’t been all bad, he reflected. Elsie was going after his young man! For all of Aziraphale’s misfortune, at least Elsie was making amends and taking a chance at love.

Another uncomfortable twist in the region of his stomach at that. 

Not that _he_ had amends to make, naturally. And of course, the situations were completely different. It was foolish to see any parallel between his situation and Elsie’s, really. Elsie’s separation from his young man was a bit of very human ill judgement. Aziraphale was separated from Crowley by the workings of God Herself. 

There was also the fact that there was no star-crossed love to be had between them. Naturally.

Anyhow. If _Crowley_ wanted to make amends. If he could drag himself away from the hordes of friends he had to fraternize with. If he could simply admit that to ask for _holy water_ of all things was beyond the pale! Aziraphale was not unfeeling, not cold. If Crowley came to him, he would accept the dear fellow with open arms. Figuratively speaking.

_When_ Crowley came to him, in fact. Not ‘if.’ Of course Crowley would come to him, as he always did. It was merely a matter of time. He would not keep up this lark of his of being angry at Aziraphale for very long.

With a grim, determined kind of smile, Aziraphale entered the bookshop and locked it behind him, ready to lose himself in his books for a month or so and emerge feeling like a new angel.

He did not know it yet, but he was in for a long eighty years.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Disclaimer: I've done approximately no research on the Hundred Guineas Club and I frankly do not know what the social practices of that or similar spaces were. What you see here was cobbled together from a few scant moments of Google-based research, a few other fics I've read set in The Club, and most significantly stuff I made up. I've excused myself to myself by saying, well, I didn't name The Club in the fic, so it's fair game. Not exactly Best Practices. Shrug emoji!!
> 
> Shout out to Hallie for the conversation we had in back in August where she mentioned the idea that Aziraphale and Crowley might use Naomi and Ruth for their gay Victorian gentlemen aliases and my brain stopped working for a full minute.
> 
> Absolutely endless thanks to Renn who has been cheering this monster on for at least two months now. Couldn't (and wouldn't) have done it without you.


End file.
